Five Times America Forgot His Own Strength
by Dear Inconspicuous
Summary: ...and the one time he remembered.
1. The First

**I. The First**

* * *

This calamitous monstrosity of a conference happened more often than they liked.

The conference had been an average one – things not getting done, insults being flung around, profanities lashing from mouth to mouth, hands ready to grapple and strangle. Germany watched as the other nations who didn't take part in the arguments just sit back and laugh at the others' antics.

Germany sighed internally.

Honestly, why couldn't they be a little more productive? Germany was sure that it was almost a curse at this point. The inefficiency of the conferences was becoming more and more drastic as the years passed by. When they'd all file into the room in the morning, the hour that preceded it was usually the only one out of the many that was productive and alert with brainstorming of ideas and debates. They'd also seem to be civil to each other, despite many of them having spiteful feelings to at least one other nation in the room.

That hour, as Germany had pointedly stated more than once in the past, was simply nothing more than a miracle. And like all good things in life did, it disappeared at the end of the hour.

'A true Cinderella,' Germany dryly thought. He could always feel the tension building up in the room before the constant flow of insults started streaming out of others' mouths. Truthfully told, if he heard another " _When are you going to pay back your debt?_ " being flung from China and the booming laughter of the American nation in response in the near proximity of his right ear one more time, he was going to flipping lose his mind.

Not that anyone else recognized. Not even Italy Veneziano did, because at the moment, he was crying about how lasagna absolutely _had_ to have béchamel sauce, while Italy Romano argued that some form of lasagna that one his best chefs made in his Italian restaurants did not need any, and was therefore _not_ a must. Why were those two even arguing about this subject in the first place? Germany placed his forehead on his palm. The rest of the world were all too busy bickering back and forth, all of them too caught up in their games of 'Who Hates Who The Most', a totally unnecessary fight that the nations sometimes, if not always, got too caught up in. Germany just wondered why they hadn't banned the activity from the conferences yet.

Looking back on it, they really should have. And they should have done so much earlier, too. He was almost sure that the whole thing was simply a test to check his boundaries of patience, and even without other nations poking at him for starting World War II, he could still feel the stress and frustration pile upon him as he listened to the others bicker and fight. Why was he still mediating these meetings, when it was clearly the hosting country's job to do so?

Because apparently, he was the only one who was mature enough to understand that they had these meetings to get things done for once, rather than to waste time idly while world affairs still went unsolved.

Children. They were all such _children_. When will they ever learn? _Will_ they ever learn? Was it that the past grudges were too strong to get in the way of their future?

A shadow suddenly fell upon the brooding nation. Germany looked up in confusion from where he'd been attempting to calculate his revenue from his rough graphs of the import tax on Korean automobiles, all the while trying to ignore the high decibel background noises. He blinked as he took in the wheat-golden hair and blue eyes and the blindingly white teeth, and he nodded in acknowledgement.

"America," he grunted. He received a bright smile in response.

"Dude," the other nation said, plopping into a seat besides him where England had been before he abandoned his chair entirely to go strangle France. "You're looking a bit strained today. Something wrong?"

Germany huffed. Something wrong? Of course there was something wrong.

"Are you serious?" he asked back. He swept his arm over the expanse of the conference hall, prompting the American to look around as well. The room was in absolute chaos. Nobody in this room was even trying to settle down, let alone speak like civilized beings they were supposed to be, and there was nothing that was going on that was going on right. Even though they've all had these conferences before, the only things that they managed to do was to get on each others' nerves, and although Germany had tried time and time again to make sure that these conferences moved along according to his strict schedule and tight agendas, whenever the next meeting rolled around he always found them back at square one.

America apparently didn't share his views. "Well, it _is_ a little rowdier than normal," he said. "But that just means that the old gits are alive and healthy."

Germany stole a sideways glance at the North American nation, as Poland pounced on Lithuania in the corner of his eye. The American had pushed aside all of England's paperwork to the empty seat where France had been and had pulled out his phone instead. Germany grumbled.

"Like you're doing any better. I told you before America, no games during conferences."

"Let's face it Germany, we're not getting anything done today. I might as well do something that I count as productive."

And with that, the American had turned on his game with little hesitation in his actions. Germany felt his anger bubble within his throat.

"Why on earth," he growled, his German accent starting to cover his English like a blanket. "Did you decide to sit next to me if you're not going to work?"

"Because you looked like you needed to talk," said America, his eyes still focused on his latest solved chapter of Monument Valley 2. "To be completely honest, you look like you could use some outlet right about now, especially with that vein popping out on your forehead. Talk to me, won't ya?"

Germany felt his forehead with the tips of his fingers and found to his annoyance, that America was right. He sighed heavily, before leaning forwards and placing his head in his hands. He attempted to calm himself down before putting his words together.

"I just don't understand," said Germany. "They're hundreds of years old, some of them at their _thousands_ , and yet they still bicker like children when it comes to these meetings. We thought these meetings were supposed to be helpful in improving our international relationships, but they have proved again and again to be the exact opposite. It frustrates me because nobody seems to be putting even the tiniest bit of effort to actually work on the problems we actually face, and instead they all decide to focus on their grudges from the past."

America looked up from his game at his rant. He took a long look at the German, and as Germany turned his head to look at America, their eyes met, the icy glacier striking tall against the blue sky.

"Why must they act this way? Why do they refuse to cooperate?"

"Think of it this way," said America. "You know what would happen if we didn't have these meetings?"

"We'd still get nothing done, but we'd go without a waste of time. Perhaps that'd be a better option?"

"No, no," laughed America. He put his phone back into his pocket. "We'd all be at war at each other because there'd be nowhere to vent our frustrations to, and that'd pile up so much that we'd get another world war."

Germany frowned. "That is a very extreme way of thinking, America."

"But true," America said as he patted Germany on the back. "Remember in the past when we didn't have these meetings? We weren't cooperating with each other, we were only working with other nations who only wanted to be in for their own benefits. They were always looking for a sign to catch each other off guard as soon as they showed any signs of weaknesses. That's why we had wars, don't you think?"

"You, out of all nations, should know that that's not why wars start, America. Not after the Cold War."

"Yeah, well," the American rubbed the back of his head with a sheepish look on his face. "Let's not talk about that. But at least, you know, we vent our frustrations on a normal basis instead of once every couple of decades, and I like to think that it helps."

Germany sighed. America seemed to be stubbornly set on the mind that these meetings were actually doing more good for them than harm, a sentiment that Germany would sometimes agree with, but also felt that was overshot. Yes, releasing stress was important for the mental health, but wasn't Germany himself gaining more stress by just being here, listening to these idiots fight over and over again on the same topics? Didn't America realize this?

Apparently not. Germany had to remind himself that for whatever superpower America was, the nation simply lacked the ability to read the atmosphere and was often one of the nations that bickered and fought like children. Obliviousness was one of the superpower's traits that the German nation often found exhausting. How the other nation even made it to the pinnacle of strength was a mystery that would be best left for the historians of their future to surmise. As of current, Germany simply had no clue.

A thick stack of paper held in a plastic binding flew over their heads in a thick bundle across the room and smacked Austria in the face. His glasses clattered to the floor and Austria sputtered, before going red and picking them up. Hungary stood up with her skillet in hand, one sole of her foot grinding against the conference table as she searched the crowd of nations for the accused.

France turned and attempted to flee for his life. He circled the table, looking anxiously at the door that led away from the murderous nation, and Germany distinctively heard the Frenchman count to three under his breath.

" _Un_ …"

The Hungarian nation tensed, looking around the room for any sweaty-faced guilty looking party. Her eyes narrowed as Spain merely laughed at his neighbor's plight. England was pointing a finger at France, wiping tears from his caterpillar-browed eyes with his free hand. Hungary's hair frazzled wild with anger as she turned on the French nation angrily, her brows knitted together so closely that they resembled one large, long set of lines on her forehead.

" _Deux_ …"

France gulped. He came around the end of the table, edging towards the door as Hungary rounded on him, jumping up on the table with her combat boots crinkling the well-printed paper beneath. Switzerland let out a yell of protest as his speech was trampled, but Hungary paid no mind.

" _Trois!_ "

And at that moment, the German nation knew the true meaning of chaos.

Hungary pounced with all the power of a deadly panther and France dived for cover – _behind Germany_ , of all places. The German nation watched as if in slow motion as the frying pan descended upon his head and braced himself with his eyes snapping shut as he readied himself for the impact and a possible concussion. It would hurt, but he was immortal and was a nation; he'd walk it off and be fine within the next week or so without any real consequences. Nevertheless, that didn't necessarily mean that he enjoyed the pain when he wasn't expecting it.

He waited for the hit, but strangely, it would never come to him.

A loud, horrible screech filled the room. Germany heard France gasp somewhere behind and below him, and he cracked open an eye to see what was going on.

America stood besides him, his arms outstretched over the German's head. There was something that he was holding in his grip, and Germany slowly blinked. Whatever it was, it was small, black, and was apparently something that could be scrunched into a strange shape by human hands… And apparently had a handle, seeing as Hungary was holding the said appendix as her grip on the thing as her hands shook from what appeared to be the impact that occurred between the thing and America's hands.

"Mein _Gott_ ," he whispered in shocked revelation as it finally dawned upon him what the object was.

It was Hungary's _skillet_. The large flat bowl at the end of the metal handle was now only a little more than a simple black funnel, folded in half and was completely pulled together until it was no more than a small ball attached to a metal stick. Hungary's hands were shaking, not because of what Germany had originally thought to be from the impact, but because America was simply refusing to let go.

The American blinked for a moment, and his face immediately changed from being blank to horror-stricken in mere seconds

"Oh god," America gasped. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know what I was thinking, Hungary! I'm sorry about your pan, maybe I can get you a new one? I'm really sorry, really, really sorry, I really am – "

"Germany!" Italy Veneziano wailed as he threw himself onto his larger friend, cutting off any hopes of listening to America ramble on. Germany was very nearly knocked out of his chair, but he braced his feet and held out his arms for the Italian to fall into. "Are you all right?" the Italian man worried.

"Y – yes," Germany stammered. His eardrums ached with the sheer volume of the Italian's despair, but he held himself steady and patted his friend on the back instead. "I'm alright."

"Oh man," the American next to him continued to apologize in distress, and Germany peered over the head of his Italian friend to see his blue eyes wide open with guilt flashing through sporadically. "Are you angry? I'm sorry about your frying pan, Hungary, I really am, but I just couldn't see Germany getting hit when he hasn't done anything, and I really just wanted to catch it before you bashed his head in – I'm really, really sorry, I didn't mean to break it!"

The Hungarian nation looked taken aback at the stream of continued words and held a look of blank surprise on her face before it melted into a smile. She put down the destroyed pan and hopped off the table next to the American and patted the young nation on the head, the unruly curl folding itself under her slender fingers as his hair was tussled. America's eyes grew wide.

"It's okay," Hungary said. "You only did it to protect Germany, I can always get a new pan. Although it wouldn't make a difference to me if you buy me one too!"

She laughed as her hand roughened the younger nation's hair one last time. Germany thought it to be wise to not mention that none of this incident wouldn't have needed to happen if they had all just calmed down and cooperate with each other in the first place, but he didn't say another word. With or without the frying pan, Hungary was still a force to be reckoned with if provoked. He let go of Veneziano and picked up the destroyed pan that Hungary left on the table instead and observed it with curious interest. The metal had been bent to the exact shape of America's fingers, and it was almost tightened to the point where it almost resembled a mace than a flat surface.

"I'll buy you another one, I promise," the American sighed. "You're really not angry at me?"

"Why should I be? You wouldn't have needed to do that if France hadn't been fighting with England in the first place!" The Hungarian nation smiled sincerely, but then shot a deadly glare at the French nation that still hovered behind them. Germany watched as America's worried face melted into an almost babyish smile.

"Thank you," Germany spoke up, and only then did America turn back towards him. "Although you really needn't have. I could have taken it."

A statement that was common among their kind. They were strong, they were resilient, and as long as their government functioned, and their people believed. A bullet through their heads would only incapacitate them for a few hours at the very least and would leave them healthy enough to pick themselves up from whatever mess they were in to go on their merry ways.

So why would America bother?

"'S no problem," he said, and the sky-blue eyes shone with all the dazzle of a thousand suns. "I'd do it again if I had to! I mean, it's a hero's job not to let others get hurt, right?"

Heroics. Of _course_. Germany should have known. The American was constantly obsessed with his comic books and hero movies, it was no surprise that he'd do whatever he thought was to be a heroic act. It was what came out of his mouth once every ten minutes when he was trying to make a point in the conference, and his love for them was no secret to anyone.

His strength, though... Germany narrowed his eyes. There was something _wrong_ with his strength. Of course, as a nation, they were all stronger than the average human, but it was barely enough to make a difference. America was an anomaly, in Germany's mind. Germany had previously heard about how strong America was, but this was perhaps the first time that he had witnessed it with his own eyes. He'd never seen anyone bend a frying pan with that much ease in his life before.

Was America something completely different? The German nation frowned. He'd have to watch America closely, and take note of his strength. While he was sure that he wouldn't be against America should another war arise, there wouldn't be any harm in knowing America's true limits, were there?

And so started Germany's meticulous task of watching and observing America from across the conference halls. He'd watch. He'd take note.

He'd learn.


	2. The Second

**II. The Second**

* * *

America, Germany would find out, was hard to locate when he wasn't seeing the other nation in the conference halls. As thus, the only times that Germany was able to observe America were through these conferences, and the man's strength was only exhibited very, very rarely. This meant that no matter how hard Germany watched and watched and strained his eye for any abnormal signs of the nation's super-strength, unless America truly found a reason to go all out on something, there would be nothing to note down.

And Germany had bought the little brown notebook specifically to jot down his observations on America, too. If America didn't do something soon, he'd have to find another use for the thing. There was no way that he'd waste money for something that wasn't going to happen.

 _God_ , he sounded like Switzerland.

What was in the notebook, so far? Apart from his first observation, which only ended badly for Hungary's skillet, there was nothing else in the lined pages. If America didn't have another show of his strength exhibited soon, he'd probably have to use his notebook to jot down more information about Italy Veneziano instead. Like he'd been doing for the past hundred-something years, he bitterly reminded himself.

But in the meantime, he'd be the first to arrive in the conference hall – _again_ – and make sure that the room was clean and spotless before the others arrived. There was a fine layer of dust on some of the desks further in the back, and Germany sighed in exasperation before placing his briefcase and notebook down on one of the larger conference tables and wetting a rag from the bathroom and wiping them down.

A sudden knock on the large doors made him straighten back up. He groaned at the sound of his back cracking a little, and then called, "Come in."

Some maintenance workers shuffled in, holding various tools in hand. Germany nodded to them in recognition as they set to work on the table legs and tightened the bolts on them that led straight down into the floor.

Tables were always bolted down in the conference rooms. There were no exceptions to this rule. Even the podium at the front was bolted down, and it was only after Germany himself had made sure that it wouldn't budge with all his strength, that he had given the consensus that it was okay for the maintenance team to go. There was a simple answer for this rule, and it was that the World Conferences always ended in a fight. If the tables weren't held down with nuts and bolts, then tables would be flung around and that'd result in severe property damage. Chairs, the walls could manage. Tables, not so much. And these tables were heavy, too.

If they were in a conference hall that didn't have them bolted down, they'd make for an emergency hold and find one that did, or find some place where the staff could allow such change to be made. It was a hassle to do so, so they'd always use the same halls over and over again in every country. If anything, it saved them the effort of having to go through hours and hours on search on the net and the phone, asking for hotels to see if they could use their convention halls if any of them had tables bolted down.

In most cases, they did not.

The door creaked open, and Netherlands and Belgium peaked in. The female nation chirped a cheerful hello, before going towards the seat where her name plaque was situated. Netherlands merely nodded at Germany, before doing the same, but not before he spotted the brown leather covered notebook on one of the tables. It didn't take much effort for him to open the book and read the very first few pages.

"'On the date of April 21st, 2009, America had exhibited a sign of strength that I had never seen before...' What is this?"

Germany looked up in time to see Netherland smirk. "Netherlands," he said, his voice low. "Don't read what's not yours."

"'He had crumpled Hungary's skillet into a small ball with his bare hands, and this is the first time that I have witnessed such occurrence in front of my eyes. In this strange turn of events, I will continue to observe America to note the limits of his strength, should it ever be shown.'"

Netherlands put down the notebook back on the table, and Germany stomped across the room to snatched it up. "You're going to observe America?" he asked, his normally stoic eyes gleaming with what Germany identified as amusement. The geographically larger nation nodded.

"Yes," he said. "I'm sure it is not a crime to do so?"

"No, no," the other nation replied. "Only, I doubt you'll ever find his limits, even if you were to watch him for the next hundreds of years. He's always been naturally strong, that boy."

"What do you know about it?"

At this, Netherlands smirked again. "That information's going to cost you," he said, and Germany had to suppress an exasperated sigh.

"Really, Netherlands?"

"Maybe," he said. "How about you buy twenty thousand tulips from me in addition to what you already do this year, and we have a deal."

" _Twenty thousand?_ Do you realize how ridiculous that is? What am I going to do with twenty thousand tulips?"

"Be creative," the merchant nation said. "Give it to the people you love, if you have any."

"Hilarious," Germany deadpanned. Netherlands merely shrugged.

"I'm only joking. I hope you've realized that already, or else we'd have to talk for another twenty minutes about your apparent lack of humor."

"And you think you're so funny, don't you?"

"Humor costs effort," Netherlands said. "But I'll tell you what I know anyways."

"Netherlands helped America during his revolution," piped up Belgium. She had made her way around the table and had sat herself down on it in front of the two taller nations. "I wasn't there, but Netherlands went to America several times with his ships. You sold a lot of stuff to America, right?"

Netherlands nodded. "I wasn't directly involved in the war like France, but I did sell a variety of things over there. I tried to remain neutral as much as I could, but that blockade," Netherlands grimaced. "That blockade nearly ruined everything. My fleets weren't as big as the British Empire's were, so I had to find loopholes to get my things to America."

"But you still saw him?"

"Once or twice."

"What was he like back then?"

At this, Netherlands tilted his head slightly to the side. His eyes searched what Germany could not see, as he went through years of memory for those days of more than two hundred years ago. A short time for those who lived a millennium, maybe, but it was still years and years of memories that were piled into a simple structure of mass and tissues that folded within their susceptible-to-breakage skulls.

"Mn," Netherlands grunted. "A lot less annoying than he is now, certainly. He worked hard."

"What Netherlands means," said Belgium. "Is that he was a lot more modest, more reserved, and shy and inexperienced. But that's to be expected of a newborn nation, I think."

"Modest? Reserved? _Shy_? This _is_ America that we're talking about, right, and not that other _what's-his-name_ living above him?"

"If you pay me, I'll can give you some evidence for confirmation."

"No, you're not," Belgium stated firmly, fixing her brother with a glare. "But yes, that _was_ America, apparently. Netherlands used to tell me how hard it was for him to say anything without stammering some thank-yous to every sentence whenever he was over there."

"That wasn't really what I wanted to know, but all right," Germany said. He had uncapped his pen to write down what he had just heard, but then found that the information that had just been given to him was nothing more than a fluke and not at all pertaining to what his goals were. He shook his head and looked back into the eyes of the merchant nation. "But he was strong then, too?"

"England used to tell people that the boy could pick up a buffalo when he was no taller than his knee," Netherlands said. "Whether or not that's true, it still says quite a bit about him, don't you think?"

"That his strength was a given," Germany concluded, the realization dawning on him, and knew that the conclusion that he had reached was true when Netherlands nodded. Nations would normally grow stronger physically when their government and military grew more powerful. Germany himself was very near his peak during World War II, and the tales of the British Empire that could break down walls were nothing more than a myth now, but were still very much true back in the days. England could no longer do that, because he wasn't as strong as he used to be, and thus his punches only hurt as much as the next nation's did.

They could, of course, work out. But not many of them wanted to do so when they were swamped with work and had more pressing matters at hand. Like solving poverty issues. Fixing inflation.

Netherlands straightened his back and crossed his arms, before a smug look settled on his normally stoic face. "Don't forget to buy those twenty thousand plus tulips," he said, smirking. Behind him, Belgium sighed before giving a small laugh and then promptly smacked her brother on the back.

"Ha ha," Germany murmured, not quite understanding what Netherlands and Belgium found so hilarious. "Very funny."

"Liar," Belgium chirped. "But why the sudden interest in America, Germany? It's rather confusing, seeing as you didn't even know about it during World War II. Didn't you have a bunch of spy rings in America back then? Why is this such a new development for you?"

"I didn't have much information about him personally as much as you think I did, most likely," Germany replied. "I didn't even know he was capable of such things back then. All I knew of him was of his official forces and the movement of his troops, and that he was an ace pilot himself. And I wasn't a close friend of England to hear about America when he was young, either."

"Ah," Belgium gasped suddenly. "I sometimes forget that you're younger than America! No wonder you never heard those stories! England was insufferable about it during the early 18th century. That's before your birth, right?"

"Yes," Germany replied. Belgium gave him a sympathetic look.

"All for the better," she said, and her tone took on a hint of annoyance. "England was a dick, and I don't mean that dish that he calls cuisine. He'd flaunt the fact that the colonies were his, and after he kicked France out of Canada, he was the absolute _worst_. I was so glad when America won his independence, because it meant that the rest of us could do with a little more leg room with him being knocked down a peg or two."

Next to her, Netherlands nodded. "Why do you think I decided to support America indirectly? All for the greater good, I say."

"You can say that all you want, Netherlands, but we all know it was for money," Belgium argued, and the siblings ensued a conversation that took jabs at each other and had nothing to do with what Germany wanted to know. This would be the most that he'd get out of the two, for the moment. He sighed and looked down at his writing in his notebook instead.

'I have recently come to learn that America could swing a buffalo around when he was a young boy,' Germany scripted in his mind. Could this count as an observation? If it was, it was a rather poor one, seeing as this information was second-handed; unless Germany coaxed it out of America or England himself, the only evidence to back this up would be only by listening to others recount the tales that they've heard from England. He pondered on this for a moment further before eventually deciding that the information could be written down, as long as he made sure to check back to see if it was true.

He did make some progress into writing it down, and he put the notebook away. Other nations were slowly trickling in now, and he didn't have the patience to go through what he just did with Netherlands if anyone else saw his little book. Hopefully they'd just think that it was just an observation log for Italy, as were many of his other notebooks were, but somehow that didn't seem to be stop Netherlands from getting into his business, so Germany doubted that other nations would either. He watched instead, as the others filed into their seats and waited for the few minutes left until the start of the meeting for the blond haired American. He was most likely just late again, but he'd have to make England or whatever the northern nation upwards from America was to call him, to make sure if it turned out that he had just forgotten. He'd better not have, seeing as this meeting was on America's own soil.

Then the clock struck 8 on the dot, the doors flew open, and the loud booming voice full of power and cheerfulness declared; "The hero has arrived!"

Germany could feel his eyes automatically roll in an almost Pavlovian conditioned way and he was sure that he wasn't the only one to do so. "Sit please, America," he said, trying not to let his temper get the better of him yet. They haven't even started the meeting after all, and there wasn't anything he could tell America other than to ask him to try arriving a little earlier next time.

But Germany knew that even if he did, at the next meeting he'd still be either like he was today or be what the American often declared to be fashionably late.

The American beamed in response and made a beeline towards his seat. Germany waited patiently until he had sat down, and then called the house into order with all his sternness and determination to _finally_ get things done maybe, and they'd be able to go back home feeling proud of themselves for accomplishing such a feat and vowing to do the same at the next meeting.

This resolve would, again, last an hour before everything fell into hell.

It had been Canada at the podium. While the Northern American nation was difficult to spot at times, there was no doubting that this was indeed America's brother when it came to foreign politics. Many of their relations overlapped, as did their military training and open borders with the other. And while America would sometimes announce their international relations to other nations when both of them mutually agreed on something, there were rare occasions that Canada would be noticed individually and would be called up to the podium to make his speeches. Apparently, today was one of those days.

But really, they should've all known better. For even when Canada was noticed, there was no promise that other nations would hold their concentrations to actually listen to the Canadian.

And that was exactly what Germany had been thinking when a scuffle broke out between Prussia and Norway. What it was about, Germany had no idea. But when Norway's voice slowly grew, Germany barely had seconds to count to himself until the loud, rambunctious yell came from Denmark, defending his brother and wishing hell on Prussia. For a moment, Germany felt dread settle in his stomach as he saw Prussia's eyes flicker towards him briefly – was Prussia going to drag him into this one? – but the moment that he lowered his head to settle his forehead onto his palms again, trying to sooth himself the best he could, Prussia had looked away with a maniacal glint in his eyes and Germany knew that this would be Prussia's own fight.

Was he guilty? No, of course not. Prussia could handle whatever he got himself into, and Germany didn't need to help him. Not that he particularly _wanted_ to help him, either. Prussia could get himself out of whatever hellhole he dragged himself into by himself, thank you very much.

Oh why, _why_ did it have to be Prussia who started this? Couldn't his brother behave for once?

No. Apparently not. So that was how Denmark and Prussia charged at each other, literally butting heads; Norway took out Denmark's battle ax from _God-knows-where_ and threw it to Denmark who slammed the head to the ground where Prussia had been standing. The nations nearby fled for their lives, leaving their seats and desperately hoping for their religions to keep them safe.

"Prussia! Denmark!" Germany shouted, hoping to gain their attention. "Stop this madness at once!"

Nobody paid attention.

The ax drove itself into where Prussia had been standing moments ago, and wood splinters flew into the air. Canada cried out as the force of the podium being shattered threw him backwards and the broken wood cut into him sharply.

From the corner of his eyes, Germany saw America shift slightly. For a moment, America had been laughing, watching Prussia sidestep Denmark's ax with almost what could be considered grace. Then he grew extremely still as the ax hit the podium, and his eyes followed the movement of his own brother fly backwards and look up, dazed, with blood grazing his cheeks. When America turned his head to look back to the two warring nations, Germany swore he saw red in America's eyes.

Tables were bolted down, yes, Germany had made sure of that. The maintenance workers and made sure that the bolts were secure and tightened, and Germany himself had made sure that _nothing_ could budge them.

And yet there was a sickening crack that rang throughout the room, and a horrible screech of metal being scraped away from concrete made everyone in the vicinity clap their hands on their ears, hoping that the sound didn't burst their eardrums.

 _Nothing_ , apparently, didn't include America, Germany now realized, as he watched the American push away the table that he had been sitting at. Italy Veneziano, who had been sitting next to Germany, silently gave a shrill, terrified " _Eep_ " at the sight of the some thousand and several hundred pounds of mahogany and stone easily being swung away from where America had sat at, and towards the other end of the room. There was an almighty crash as it met the wall; the table legs shook and split under the force of making contact, the stone on the table snapping and cracking as the furniture slammed onto hard concrete. Greece's head snapped up from where he was napping, eyes wide, and he wasn't the only one – nations that previously weren't paying attention to Prussia and Denmark's fight as they dealt with their own petty conversations were suddenly looking at the scene of the incident. The wall now sported a beautiful dent, so mesmerizing that nobody could take their eyes off of it as they stared in horror.

America didn't seem to realize what events had transpired under his own hands and instead ran towards his northern brother in distress. "Canada!" The superpower nation's voice held concern and worry as he reached the nation sitting placidly at the base of the ruined podium. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? They didn't break anything in you, did they?"

"No," said Canada, extremely calm, considering that he'd been just attacked with an ax only moments ago. "Denmark just surprised me, that's all. I'm not hurt."

"Canada, you're _bleeding_. Here, I have a bottle of disinfectant in my briefcase, we can clean that cut and get you bandaged up – "

"You have disinfectants in your _briefcase_? Why?"

America shrugged. "A hero doesn't know when they're going to encounter an injured person, so I figured it'd be useful to be always prepared."

"I'll let you take care of my cuts later. They're just wood splinters at the worst, and I'll be fine once I get to the hospital. I'd suggest turning around first, if I were you."

"Why?"

Canada huffed. "America, you just destroyed a table and a good wall, and you're asking me _why_?"

At that, America slowly turned around and faced the damage that he had dealt to the conference hall. "Oh," he said, and his face turned downcast. "I – I didn't mean to. I was, I panicked, I guess, when I saw you. I really didn't mean to do that..." America sighed. "I forgot that the tables were bolted down."

Canada looked up at his brother in exasperation. " _How_ can you forget that?"

"I dunno, I didn't really feel it resist when I pushed against it! This isn't my fault. They should've drove those bolts down further if they really wanted the table to stay where it was."

Would that have stopped America? Germany was starting to doubt it; the table had already been bolted firmly against the floor, and for all his strength, Germany himself couldn't even get it to budge even the slightest. And yet America had pushed it away like it was something that didn't weigh hundreds of kilograms.

This was definitely an observation for him to note down. He reached for his notebook and uncapped his pen. The fact that the conference hall was ruined and that he should probably call for the meeting to an end, but his mind buzzed with excitement at finally getting something to work with. Next to him, Italy Veneziano would watch in curious fascination, only for his face to fall when he realized that he couldn't read the German written inside. It made no difference to Germany, because he was already busy writing down what he had just witnessed. So America didn't have a problem with handling many hundred pounds of wood and stone, did he?

"Look, I'm sorry for the mess I've made. We should probably find another conference hall for tomorrow. Today's meeting's already a bust," America announced. "I promise I'll find another room for us by tonight! Sorry guys, meeting's adjourned!"

Chairs that still held nations that didn't fall out of them scraped back noisily, while those that were still on the floor slowly picked themselves up and picked their belongings from the floor. Germany looked up to see America drag his brother – Germany suddenly felt his mind wiped clean of what he was called – out of the room. Italy Veneziano would jump onto him only moments later, blocking Germany's sight from everything else other than the Italian man's Gucci suit.

"Germany, Germany!" The Italian nation smiled as he pulled on Germany's own suit. "Let's go eat lunch, I'm starving! Aren't you in the mood for some good pasta? We can ask Japan if he wants to join, too!"

"Yes, yes," Germany hastily replied. Not wanting to look suspicious, he picked up his half-written notebook and organized his papers back into the briefcase. "I'll just take care of my brother before we go, yes?"

"Of course!"

He picked up his briefcase and held out an arm – to which Italy latched onto like a leech – before walking over and pulling on Prussia's ear.

"Idiot," he growled, and he could see Finland approach Denmark from the other side of the room in the corner of his eye, with angry reprimands right behind his lips. Germany wanted to do nothing more than hurry on with continuing writing his recount of what he had just seen in his observation log, but telling Prussia off and then joining his friends for a meal came first.

And if Prussia brought up the fact that Germany didn't stop Denmark from joining Norway in the first place, then he'd just tell him to go to his room and ban him from beer for the next week or two.


End file.
